


Lassie Come Home

by Attic_Nights



Series: Kisses Collected Across the Alternate 'verses [4]
Category: Psych
Genre: AU-fantasy, Alternate Universe, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Magic, Pre-Slash, Stand-alone, alternate take on the Pilot, lassiter is a dog, shawn is directionless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 03:17:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4247316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attic_Nights/pseuds/Attic_Nights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one in which Lassiter is a dog (possibly an Irish Wolfhound cross).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lassie Come Home

**Author's Note:**

> A shameless piece of plotless fluff that has been sitting on my hard drive with a bone and a floppy grin for over a year now. 
> 
> Like other stories in this series, this is a stand-alone tale.

The first time Shawn saw him, the dog was galloping down State Street, the heels of his paws uncomfortably heated by a chef wielding a meat cleaver. Persuaded in such a way, the dog moved fast and agile around the crowded street, a black, sleek streak of fluff zigzagging between lazy Sunday shoppers. Darting around a mobility scooter, his large ears pitched forward eagerly, long limbs flying over a July-hot pavement.

The reason behind such a scene on a dull, ordinary day, was easily apparent to Shawn. Because there, held tightly and firmly in the dog’s jaws, was a prize. A prime sirloin steak.

The lean canine ducked under the hotdog stand, around the peanut man, and leapt over a screaming toddler lain prostate under the shade of a Spiderman balloon. The chef huffed and puffed like a huffing and puffing thing, his armpits stained yellow, his face pink, and his anger red. His hairnet was half off, so long greasy strands of hair waved in freedom, with a certain _joie de vivre,_ at the screaming beat cop by the corner. Said screaming beat cop tripped over the lain screaming toddler and landed himself a screaming mother and a future screaming by Chief Vick. The chef on the other hand - having made the impossible leap over the screaming toddler with his stout, chicken-like legs and having his bullheadedness as a springboard - became entangled with the inflated Spiderman, and lost precious seconds popping the balloon before resuming his chase. At this turn of events, the toddler, if possible, became more distressed.

At first, Shawn was content just watching the dog outwit the chef, but when he saw it duck into what he knew was a blind alley, he found himself running to assist, thickshake sloshing in his left hand. He barely paused in his stride when he remembered his half-eaten hotdog left on the bench behind him. Considering it a loss in the line of heroism, he threw himself forward into the fray with as much pep as he could rally.

He whistled. “Sorry, man!”

The chef started, looking back at him from where he had cornered the large dog. Both beings appeared to be growling. “This mutt stole my meat.”

The mutt snarled in response, doggy drool dripping over the steak wedged protectively in his mouth. Shawn bit back a grin and pulled on the mask of someone with too little time and too much money to care about it.

Shawn grinned slowly, with airs. “Oh, you know what animals are like! No concept of possessions. Look,” he fumbled around in his pocket and pulled out a twenty. “I’ll pay you for it.”

The man pinned him with murder-moistened eyes, meat cleaver twitching eagerly in his hand. Shawn made a mental note to tip the health inspectors off about the pub emblazoned on his uniform – that amount of cuts on a hand and no sign of a bandaid? _Gross_. He carefully raised a bored eyebrow, aware that the chef was keen to carve a new sirloin from the dog. The cleaver glinted sharply once more, and the dog huffed around his steak in warning, his ridiculously large ears pinned. Shawn crinkled the bill.

The chef wavered and resolved just as Shawn knew he would. Grabbing the twenty from his grasp, the chef glowered for a full two seconds at it before he stormed off back to do his chef things, but not before running into the unfortunate beat cop.

“Keep the change!” Shawn called out around a smile, unable to hold back any longer. Turning back to the dog, he addressed it conversationally. “Sup dog? I’m Shawn, and you ought to know the streets better than this. Or are you not from around here?”

The dog eyed him carefully, bright blue stark amidst curling dark fur. Shawn noticed the hints of grey around his muzzle and too-large ears, matted around the edges. Sand stuck to his paws and belly, and his front leg looked game.

“Or, y’know, you could find an owner.”

The dog growled and Shawn backed away, hands up in a submissive pose.

“Okay dawg; be more careful next time.” He smiled, careful not to show any teeth, and walked away.

* * *

 The second time Shawn saw the dog, he was waiting by the entrance to his apartment. As he approached, the beast nuzzled at something under his paw. Shawn moved forward cautiously, and the dog moved back cautiously, leaving a slightly slobbered $10 note behind. Clear blue eyes watched him, narrowed and wary.

“Thanks, I think,” said Shawn, as he picked up the damp bill. “You still owe me ten dollars, but I am willing to call it even if you sleep with me.”

The dog whined, eyes wide. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, silly billy, you don’t need to whore it out. I’ve just come back to town – long story – and well, I’m not in the mood to pick up some chick at a bar. I could use the company, have someone to talk to,” he coughed, suddenly hesitant. “That is, if you promise not to eat me.”

Slowly, the dog came forward and sat by his feet, scenting the air delicately. His blue eyes looked from Shawn’s door and then back to his face. A paw rose slowly. Shawn shook it and smiled.

Later, they watched TV with a bowl of popcorn, sprawled next to each other on the couch. ‘ _Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf_?’ glowed from the screen. It had not, as the title promised, any wolves. Shawn looked at Elizabeth Taylor crawling about on her bed and felt a click.

“I’ll call you… Lassie!”

The dog _hmphed_ and laid his head on Shawn’s lap. He considered it a victory.

* * *

 Lassie didn’t stay with Shawn all the time. Sometimes they met up along the beach and shared an ice cream, and sometimes the dog would tail him as he went about town. He would hide back around a corner or person when Shawn looked, but Shawn knew he was there. Most of the time however, the big black dog did his own thing and sometimes days would pass without seeing neither hide nor hair of his thick woolly coat.

The stray always stayed when it rained, though, which admittedly (and unfortunately) wasn’t often. Waiting at the door with his ears pinned and his eyes to the ground, Shawn would let the dog grudgingly lick his hand as a show of appreciation for a warm room.

Six weeks passed since his return to Santa Barbara, and he was well past due for a screw-up. This time, it was Shawn bringing back the waiter from _A-Go-Go Fro-Yo_.

A clap of thunder tore through the air that night, thrumming deeply and steadily enough to cover the noise of a persistent whine from a persistent dog. Lightning pierced that dark and moonless sky, and for a moment, the television lost signal. Its flickered screen was enough to draw Shawn’s attention away from the waiter (a bubbly frizzy-haired babe with an equally bubbly booty) and onto the screen. Automatically, Shawn unraveled the salient facts from an interview with a suspicious store manager. He pried Bubbly away, phoned the police, but as he returned it to the cradle, he finally heard a whine at the door. After a moment of deliberation, he ignored Lassie in lieu of Bubbly, a guilty knot twisting nonetheless his gut. She giggled, hot and eager under his mouth and Shawn relaxed into a too-seldom experienced pleasure. The dog, however, started scratching at the door.

“What’s that?” she pulled back to ask, finally hearing Lassie whine.

Shawn sighed resignedly. “It’s the beast. Do you mind? The walls bleed if I feed him after midnight.”

She shook her head automatically, with a slower, slightly quizzical draw to her brows. Shawn went and opened the door, and a bedraggled, hunched shape lurched inside.

“Lassie came home!” praised Shawn. If he didn’t know better, Shawn would think the dog rolled his eyes at this.

Lassie froze over the threshold, looked at the waiter and growled, hackles raised. He raised his eyes to Shawn, his little crooked nose scenting the air, and then looked away. His head dropped and his shoulders rounded in an attempt to look smaller, but not before Shawn caught an ashamed look on his doggy face.

Shawn went back to the waitress, who was staring warily at the black lump of woolly fur. The black woolly lump began to growl again, albeit softly.

“He’s big, isn’t he?” Bubbly said, and laughed nervously.

Shawn raised an eyebrow. “You should see him on the full moon. Two ticks, gonna get something from the fridge for him.”

While bending over to retrieve the ever-present sausage from his mini-fridge, he heard a feminine squeak and the door slam. Alone in the room, Lassie looked at him like a deer caught in headlights. Shawn raised an eyebrow, and Lassie buried his head under his paws. Shawn sighed, tossing the meat over. Quicksilver jaws caught it gratefully.

“I’m getting you a towel. You reek.” He cocked his head. “I think we should do something about that. Shower, now.”

Lassie whined, but let Shawn ruffle the fur on his back.

* * *

 They were wrestling over a pineapple when _it_ happened. In a moment of lost concentration, Shawn found himself pinned by two wiry paws. Lassie looked threateningly down at him, daring him to move the pineapple again. So, Shawn did the only sensible thing in this situation and nuzzled the dog’s wet nose. It didn’t stay wet though, and Shawn jumped.

A stern-looking man appeared in Lassie’s place. A stern-looking _naked_ man. He got off Shawn as quickly as he appeared and crouched beside him. He raised a hand and looked at it, thick eyebrows drawn.

“Are you… a prince?” he could not help but ask, even though Lassie had never been a frog.

The dog/man shook his head. He made a few strange noises with his throat, and then spoke, voice halting.

“I—I’m a police officer. Or… was. I’m not sure, anymore. Shawn.” Shawn's name was said curiously, as if tasting the word for the first time.

Shawn eyed him carefully. Then, he looked at his face. “Did my dad put you up to this?”

The man actually sounded offended. “No! Not unless he’s a warlock.”

Shawn considered this. “Not with those Hawaiian shirts. Did a warlock do this to you?”

“No, it was…” here the man sighed, displeased. “A witch.”

Shawn looked at the way the man absent-mindedly fondled his left ring finger. There was a white line there on already pale skin. “Your wife?”

The man nodded. “Ex. Victoria. She said I was the police lap dog.”

Shawn looked at the gun calluses and dark circles under his eyes. “Riiight, so what are you really then?”

The man that was Lassie straightened. “Carlton Lassiter. Head detective at the Santa Barbara Police Department. Or, former… it’s been a while.” A confused, helpless look clouded over him.

“Lassiter? So your name really is Lassie!”

A growl. Shawn felt a grin spill over his face. At least that was the same. He sat up.

“Cannnn you change back?” Shawn asked, poking at the curls on Lassie's bearded face. Lassie frowned.

“Why would I want to change back?”

“Well for one, you were awesome at fetch, and for another, you’re naked.” Shawn ran a curious hand over Lassie’s shoulders. Lassiter lent into it for a moment, before shaking himself with a stern frown.

“I was naked as a dog, too.”

“You had fur!” Shawn protested, and then gestured at the man’s chest. “Well, not that you don’t—”

“Don’t say it,” warned Lassie.

He stood up, giving Shawn the most incredible, unselfconscious view of his behind. Then he leapt forward, and became a dog. Then, as a dog, he leapt forward and remained a dog. He growled.

Shawn grinned. “Looks like I have to kiss you to break the curse.”

To his surprise, Lassie came up to him with his big puppy-dog blue eyes, pleading.

“Oh, all right,” he yielded, giving the wet nose a smooch.

Lassie became a man again and Shawn wiped the dog-snot away. He had to talk about doggy dental hygiene, at some point. Then a thought occurred to him. Lassie, upon catching the look on his face, backed away cautiously.

“What are you thinking?”

“I was just wondering, what would happen if I kissed you as a man?”

Lassie yelped and ran away.

 

Five minutes later, Lassie emerged from Shawn's bedroom, pulling and shifting in Shawn's Apple Jacks t-shirt. Shawn unfolded himself from the floor, and gulped.

Cheeks a deep pink, Lassie stared at a spot on Shawn's nose, and asked, "Perhaps we could start again?"

Shawn smiled. He loved beginnings.

**Author's Note:**

> [Want more Shassie fic? Why not check out the kinkmeme that's going on right now ;)](http://shassiekinkmeme.livejournal.com/)


End file.
